


it's all just semantics

by hoshiumies



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Background Aina Ardebit/Thyma - Freeform, Because it's my fic and I do what I want, M/M, Post-Canon, Thyma Lives AU, also galo has adhd and lio had ptsd/bpd/a Boatload of trauma, background Gueira/Meis, delves into the implications of the burnish genocide and that engine because like What The Fuck, galolio don't really get together?? but it's purposely ambiguous, lio is trans and so is galo, they get therapy tho so it's ok, they gotta heal first yknow ...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshiumies/pseuds/hoshiumies
Summary: Galo's starting to think that nothing matters more to him than Lio. Maybe he'll figure out what this means at a later point, but right now, as they whoop and holler towards the setting sun, there's nothing else he can think of except for three little words:Stay with me.A series of vignettes set directly after the events of the movie.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 25
Kudos: 110





	it's all just semantics

**Author's Note:**

> hi. it's me again. i blacked out for 3-4 days and when i came back to life, this was typed on my screen.
> 
> a few things to note:  
> \- galo and lio are trans, but it's kinda just offhandedly mentioned a few times  
> \- they both have trauma. this is a little more important to the plot  
> \- i recommend you read this more like a series of scenes that all thread together, rather than something fully coherent  
> \- i beta read and edited this myself. all mistakes are mine.  
> \- the only knowledge i have on law are 2 basic courses i took in high school and my first year of uni, ace attorney, htgawm, and also a googled list of phrases often used in the courtroom. it took me more time just to figure out names for the npc's that show up here.
> 
> i think that's all. have fun!

Saving the world, Lio finds, is not a hard thing to do.  
  


The former leader of Mad Burnish never thought he'd acquaint himself with such a statement, but here he is, nonetheless. Sure, saving the world is easy—but coming to terms with the sacrifices needed to do such a thing is not.  
  


Since when was everything so _cold?  
  
_

Truthfully, it's less of the absence of heat that he misses, but rather what takes place of where the Promare used to burn inside him; what was once heat and flame has now been replaced with a cold emptiness.  
  


He's never had the time or energy to think about himself to such a degree—was never _able_ to, considering his days were spent running from the Foundation, and his nights, huddled with the sombre whispers of a dwindling fire to lull him to sleep—but he has a name to it now.  
  


This is the first time, Lio realizes, that he's ever been _lonely_ .  
  


Resettling the Burnish ( _ex_ -Burnish?) is going to be difficult. But when you’ve literally saved the world from sentient flame aliens with your rival-turned-kinda-friend, the threshold for difficulty becomes a little skewed.  
  


Though they don’t have the same fire powers which caused the discrimination in the first place, it’s not as if their struggle will be diminished any less; perhaps ‘Burnish’ now likens less to a firebrand mutant, and more so a group of people who are suffering, who are trying their best, regardless. After all, just because you’re as human as the person next to you doesn’t mean that they’ll treat you like one—Lio knows this fact all too intimately, as do the rest of his people.  
  


Once a Burnish, always a Burnish.  
  


It was a creed which Lio had always proudly emblazoned on himself—to associate themselves with fire as a sign of life and survival, never with the ashes that came after the storm.  
Nowadays, though, Lio isn't sure _what_ it all entails.  
  


Mostly, Lio isn't sure of who he is, now that he's no longer Mad Burnish's leader.  
  


After the Second World Blaze (technically the _last_ , but whatever—it's all just semantics, in the end), Lio had promised Kray that he would pay for his crimes; that he'd bear the brunt of the Burnish's fury.  
  


("...But I won't be the one to judge you for your sins," neither jury nor executioner, either; what a shame, "so sit quietly and accept what’s coming to you.")  
  


Even as the two of them are led away in cuffs (the fact that he's even being arrested at the same time as the man fills him with a feeling akin to "homicidal rage," if not for the fact that Burnish do not kill), Lio hopes with every fibre of his being that his promise will be fulfilled.  
  


Lio Fotia does not make mere threats.  
  


Nonetheless, before he's unceremoniously shoved into the police cruiser, Galo Thymos waves him down, practically bowling through the crowd of confused onlookers.  
  


"Lio! Hey, wait! Lioooo!!" His call is buoyant enough to lead a lost sailor home; Lio feels like the forlorn lighthouse set against the rocks. He turns towards the man, slightly taken aback.  
"Galo," Lio says in lieu of an actual reply. But he's sure Galo knows what he means; a hello and a goodbye, amalgamated into one.  
  


"Hey!" When he's in front of Lio, he braces his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. "Are you seriously just gonna let them arrest you like this?" His voice is laced deep with concern. Standing against the background of the rising sun, he looks ethereal. If Lio's hands weren't currently being chafed by the metal cuffs on his wrists (they're _cold_ ), he's sure he would've done something silly.  
  


Instead, Lio gives a small hum. "I caused a lot of damage to the city," he admits. "So I have to make amends for it. I've always led by example. This," he punctuates his point by jangling the cuffs around, "is leading by example."  
Galo opens his mouth to say something, but immediately closes it, brows scrunched up. He nods in reply, before perking up. "Well! Once all of this is over, you should join Burning Rescue!"  
  


How can one person be so hopelessly optimistic after the world almost ended?  
Lio is absolutely marooned by this man.  
  


"I don't think I'm gonna be seeing the light of day for a while..." Lio mutters, a little too dryly even for his tastes.  
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that."  
  


Lio's head immediately jerks up to garner Galo's expression at such a bold declaration. Surely he doesn't mean to insinuate that he'll be breaking Lio out of jail or anything, right?  
_… Right?!  
  
_

But he doesn't get a chance to ask—instead, Lio all but rudely gets shoved into the police cruiser, taking in what he assumes will be his last breath of fresh air for a while.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


Lio gets released on bail in less than 48 hours.  
  


Apparently, "I wouldn't worry about that" translates to "I talked to a former Mad Burnish member who was a lawyer, and she immediately got to work on bailing you out."  
  


Though, it's not as if Lio is really "free" in the truest sense of the word; being released on bail basically means he's able to focus on his work in the comfort of Burning Rescue HQ and not in the stony walls of Promepolis Prison, and also slog through page after page after page of dense legalise with his defense team in order to justify why millions of dollars' worth of property damage via arson should be pardoned in a court of law.  
  


Technically speaking, Lio is only responsible for a few hundred thousand of those dollars, _at best_ , but against the better judgement and advisory of his defense attorney, Lio had already resolved to take the brunt of the fall for Mad Burnish's crimes himself.  
  


Even if the title of leader had been customarily passed down over the three decades which the group had reigned, Lio wouldn't wish jail time on any of his people—least of all on Gueira and Meis. They had taken care of the Burnish population for a much longer time than Lio had in his year-long bout as their boss; it was his responsibility to bear now, especially since he was the one who more or less wrenched the title out of their hands.  
  


(To be fair—although no shame on the two of them—when Lio had first stumbled upon Gueira and Meis in the desert wastes, it was in the middle of them getting their asses thoroughly handed to them by Freeze Force, and nothing to share amongst one another except a dusty leather jacket, some pocket lint, and maybe eight cents. At least with Lio, they bumped up the jacket count to a solid two.)  
  


In truth, his temporary release was all due to rallying on behalf of the Burnish. It also seems like the UN still has _some_ semblance of morality to it, considering how the VP of Human Rights had been one of the voices in support of letting Lio go—even if only temporarily.  
  


While reconciliation efforts were starting to materialize in the minds of politicians, it didn't help that at least a good percentage of the council members were non-Burnish, as well as solid supporters (read: bootlickers) of Kray Foresight.  
Thus, the following months were surely going to encompass a lot of fighting for basic human rights, a lot of weeding out the corrupt leaders, and a lot of other political and legal nonsense. Again; all semantics.  
  


So, who else to lead reconciliation-slash-reintegration-slash-rehabilitation efforts than the Burnish’s own little fireheart?  
  


"You’ll do great," assured Lio’s lawyer, a Mad Burnish veteran by the name of Chyros, as she unceremoniously shoved at least five hundred pages of legal papers into Lio’s hands, organized into hulking binders. And then she promptly shut the door to her office in his face, resigning to her duties of trying to not get his ass shoved back into prison.  
  


While it wasn’t as if Lio was going to protest the role, he’s still a little miffed that it was _quite literally_ thrusted into his hands.  
Notably, he hates the title; there’s nothing more annoying than being forced to get along with a group of squabbling old men who treat Burnish lives as if they were the topic of a high school debate, and not people who were clearly suffering and scapegoated, all for the sake of "diplomacy" (with a major emphasis on the quotations).  
  


Nothing left to do but to get to work, either way.  
  


"You should stay at my place!" Galo offered excitably. Bless this firefighter and his blazing puppy dog spirit. He was kind—much too kind for someone like Lio. While he had only known the man for the lesser part of two weeks, Galo was surely worming his way into the arsonist’s slowly softening heart.  
And so, when he had offered to house Lio until he could get back on his feet, Lio promptly stared him in the face, and said, _"No, thank you."  
  
_

So, here he is now, half of his days spent working from the common area of Burning Rescue HQ, and the other half at a run-down hole-in-the-wall which the city calls "temporary housing" for the Burnish who had been extricated from the pods of the Parnassus. It’s stuffy, barely has a working heating system, and looks like it hasn’t been touched by anyone for half a century.  
  


And it’s the best accommodation which Lio has dealt with in a long, _long_ time.  
  


In the 48 hours following Lio’s arrest, the members of Burning Rescue Unit 3 had gotten together with various volunteers and other firefighting units in order to free the Burnish from their pods.  
  


25,000 Burnish were used to power the Parnassus. Of that number, over a thousand of them had perished, though that was the body count at an _optimistic_ number; they’d yet to go over those without any records in Promepolis’s citizenship databases, those without loved ones, as well as refugees and immigrants from other countries.  
But it doesn’t matter if the death count was a thousand, or just one; Lio experiences their losses all equally, pinpricks of heartache in his chest. He isn’t sure he’ll ever shrug off the anguish which clings to the backs of his heels.  
  


Lio feels utterly useless. While his people suffered and mourned, he was let off easy, made to toil his time away in the stone walls of his prison cell, waiting to be rescued. They needed their leader, the beacon of hope which he had forged from himself. And he wasn’t able to be there for them.  
  


Because even if Lio doesn’t know who he is as a person, he still recognizes who he is as a symbol. And damn it if he won’t claw his way out of hell just to make sure the people who turn to that symbol aren’t left desolate and without hope.  
  


There are already multiple articles rolling in about the entire incident. Some good, some partial, and others outright inflammatory. It’s during this time that Lio recognizes the power of community. Even if the headline splayed across in ink reads _'Former Burnish,'_ Lio knows:  
  


Once a Burnish, always a Burnish.  
  


Burnish defined by a life of hardship and fear; but also Burnish as defined by resilience and hope.  
No matter what it takes, Lio will give them that hope.  
  


He won’t ever let his people down again.

  
▲▲▲  
  


When Galo clocks in for another shift at Burning Rescue, he's surprised to see Lio hunched over the coffee table. Seated in front of him is a red-haired woman with the most rocking transitional lenses he's ever seen. Something about her seems familiar, though he can't place his finger on it.  
Various papers and manila folders are splayed across the glass surface, and they're doing their best to diligently sift through them. The woman lifts her head when Galo comes over and begins hovering around the duo, acknowledging him with a nod. Curious, Lio peers over and makes eye contact with Galo—only to wrench his gaze away the second he does.

  
O…kay?   
  


A little hurtful, but Galo can see he's busy—maybe he just doesn't have time to make small talk right now.  
The lady, however, _does.  
  
_

"Galo Thymos," she greets, tone clipped. The professionalism in her voice is also familiar, but he can't remember why exactly. "How have you been holding up?"  
"I've been good!" He chirps, hoping that he's injected just the right amount of chipperness into his lilt. Leaning down to see what exactly is happening, he gestures towards the piles and piles of files on the desk. "So, uh, what's happening here?"  
  


"Ah," the woman adjusts her glasses, pushing them up towards the bridge of her nose, "We're currently assembling files for Mx. Fotia's upcoming trial." It's at this moment that Galo remembers her as the Mad Burnish Lawyer Lady he'd talked to when Lio had gotten arrested. What was her name again… Carol? Charlotte? Wait, did she say _trial—?!  
  
_

"Upcoming whuh-huh?" Galo scrunches his face up in confusion. "But I thought you got out on bail?"  
"I did." This time, it's Lio who speaks up. He gathers a couple of papers in his hands, setting them together with a _shf-shf_ against the table. "But being released on bail doesn't mean total release from potential service time. Which is why I have this," he taps against the ankle of his sleek, black boot, "inside my foot now."  
"A monitor," the lady elaborates, as if Galo were a child. "We have to make sure our defense is solid. Given the fact that _this_ absolute fool," she pokes Lio with the edge of her pen, much to his dismay, "decided to shoulder _all_ of Mad Burnish's crimes. We'll be lucky if we end up with just a single life sentence at this rate."  
  


Admittedly, law stuff isn't up his alley, so it's not like he minds the explanation. But still, she could do without the slight coddle in her reply. Nonetheless, the laydown of what they're doing makes Galo frown.  
Is Lio trying to bear the brunt of the blame on behalf of _all_ Burnish? Galo knew the man to be rather self-sacrificial—hell, he's aware that even _he_ can be reckless—but this is practically martyrism.  
  


"Lio… Are you sure? I mean, I know that you've been on the lam for over thirty years, but—"  
"Actually, he hasn't." Lawyer Lady's interjection slices through Galo's own. He turns towards her, gesturing for her to go on. She laces her fingers together, elbows propped against the table, and continues, "Lio only joined Mad Burnish a year prior to the Last World Blaze."  
Okay, well, it's good that Lio isn't secretly fifty-years-old, but that also means this makes much less sense than Galo had initially thought. "So why take responsibility for _everything?_ "  
  


"It's the best possible answer," Lio replies, curt and cold. He taps against one of the pages with the top of his pencil. Galo thinks he makes out the words 'Lio Fotia' and 'terrorist' on it, and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. "If I manage to play my cards right, we can end this with the least amount of casualties. A life sentence in exchange for thousands of lives seems like the tradeoff of a century."  
  


_'Not if it's_ your _life,'_ Galo wants to say—but he knows where his boundaries lie, so he stills his tongue before he's able to say something particularly egregious (and possibly microaggressive) towards Lio. He's made that mistake once before, and he'd rather be caught dead than make assumptions again.  
  


Instead, Galo simply nods, clapping Lio's shoulder. This isn't his business, but he wants him to know that he'll still be here to support him no matter what.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


The very first constituent of Lio's policies for Burnish reconciliation was that everyone affected by the Parnassus Project—Burnish as top priority—would be given the opportunity for free counselling and therapy sessions.  
  


It took thirty years for a percentage of the world's population to become scapegoated. Lio's sure that thirty _minutes_ in a stuffy room with someone who most likely never experienced the systemic oppression that being Burnish entailed (entails, present-tense? Again, it's all semantics—) would never make up for the anguish which lingers in the crux of their persons; but there's no harm in trying.  
  


Which brings him to his second constituent: All Burnish will, to the best of their abilities, be reintegrated into the lives which they had lived before. This, of course, means that Burnish who were formerly therapists, counsellors, and psychiatrists would be able to resume their posts.  
  


It takes about two weeks for the bill to properly get passed.  
  


But Lio also severely miscalculated.  
  


It's not that he didn't foresee the complications in having disgraced professionals come back to discriminatory workplaces; even with the truth about the Burnish and the Promare and the apocalypse-but-not-really now out in the open, it's hard to undo years of hatred and propaganda-induced violence. He's working on that part.  
It's also not even that Lio didn't understand the potential trauma of going back to their lives, as if nothing had happened—because, well, it's far from the truth; a _lot_ has happened. A lot of suffering, a lot of hurting, which requires a lot of healing. Hence, the 'best of their abilities' portion of the policy. He's working on that, as well.  
  


All in all, Lio's not a political hotshot by any means, but he's also not stupid; he's receptive to his people's needs, and what they need now is time to mend their wounds—physical, emotional, psychological. They survived as a collective, and they will heal as one, too.  
  


Anyway, he's working on it all. So, in these regards, Lio is doing as much as he possibly can to help (never mind the fact that it's still not enough; he wonders if it'll _ever_ be enough). No, what Lio miscalculated on was this:  
  


'All Burnish get therapy' also includes himself.  
He's definitely making his legal documents more specific next time.  
  


In truth, Lio's assigned therapist is a wonderful person; a black-haired, violet-eyed lady who goes by the name of Jian Hart. She was a Burnish before the Second World Blaze, though not a member of Mad Burnish. Apparently, she'd managed to keep her identity under wraps, all while secretly harbouring multiple Burnish refugees in her humble townhouse.  
  


Lio thinks that people like her are some brand of everyday hero.  
But he also thinks that their time—both his own and Dr. Hart’s, that is—could be better spent on something more worthwhile than this.  
  


She’s been asking him a few questions to get the woodwork laid down, mapping out the chart of who exactly 'Lio Fotia' is, coordinate by coordinate.  
  


It’s just a shame that even Lio Fotia himself has no idea who the person on that map is.  
  


Dr. Hart shifts forward in her seat, right hand gripped on her pen. "Mx. Fotia, how old _are_ you, anyway?"  
  


Lio freezes in place. It's supposedly a commonplace question to ask people—to ask for their age—but Lio's lived a life forged through fire and brimstone, and when you're worried about whether or not you'll even have a meal to eat tomorrow, something as silly as the number of years you've been alive falls to the wayside.   
  


She seems to take the silence as an answer, leaning back. "...Do you not know?" Lio can't tell if her tone belies sympathy or pity. He's not sure which one he hates more.  
  


"I stopped keeping count after some time," he explains—though it's not even really an explanation. "Best guess I can make is that I'm somewhere in my twenties."  
"Okay," Dr. Hart says, scribbling something down on her clipboard and crossing something else out on the paper, "How about this: If you can remember, what were you doing when you turned Burnish?"  
  


"Uh," Lio laughs awkwardly, "I think … Year Four? Or Year Three. I can't remember exactly."  
"Of university?"  
"Oh, no. Of elementary."  
That seems to get a reaction. Her eyebrows shoot up, lips opening into a silent gape. "Wait a minute—you couldn't have possibly been any older than nine in that case…" More scribbling, but this time violent and anxious.  
"Once a Burnish, always a Burnish," Lio says, and shrugs. "I guess it's a little more literal for me."  
  


She clicks her pen, makes a sound that crosses between a hum and a growl, and then writes taps it against the surface of her desk.  
  


"Do you mind me asking what you _do_ remember about your childhood?"  
  


Lio has half a mind to make the poor woman’s job even more difficult than it already is, but he chews against the inside of his cheek before he can make a snarky comment.  
  


"Well," he starts, picking at a loose strand of denim on his jeans, "I was born in Somerset. Lived there for a while, I think. And then I turned Burnish in Detroit."  
"There’s a Detroit in England?"  
Lio bites back a smile. "No, I mean Detroit in America. We were on vacation."  
  


"Ah, I understand." Dr. Hart looks a little embarrassed, though she recollects herself fairly quickly. "Anything else aside from that?"  
"Nope," Lio replies, popping the 'p.' There is, in fact, _much_ more aside from that. But Lio doesn’t want to divulge into that part of himself—at least, perhaps, not yet.  
  


Dr. Hart seems to take the cue, glancing up at the analogue clock set above the window. "Well, it seems like your intake session is just about up." She stands from her seat, offering a hand. "It was nice to meet you, Lio."  
"Likewise," he says, mirroring the action and sliding his palm against hers in a firm shake.  
  


"Given your schedule, I think it’d be best if I saw you next Tuesday. Is that alright?"  
Lio is halfway out the room, but he turns back to flash her a quick thumbs up. "Sounds good."  
  


With a click of the closing door, Lio strides over to the reception desk, giving the man behind it a polite smile before swiping up the bathroom key. He fumbles getting it into the lock, but when the door to the gender neutral washroom opens, he promptly throws his backpack to the dirty floor, sinks himself down with his back pressed solidly to the wall, and silently screams into his hands.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


Galo is pretty sure that Aina knows him like the back of her hand at this point.  
  


Despite her technically being his senior in Burning Rescue, the two of them forged a bond not unlike that of siblings in the year he’d been there. They were as much drinking buddies as they were confidants.  
  


Which is why she’s all too aware of how _off_ he’s been these past couple of weeks.  
  


It's not as if he can hide it—Galo is well aware of how his emotions are always worn on his (metaphorical) sleeves. In fact, he's proud of that fact; there's no use in believing in a world without kindness, and if Galo himself has to be the sunlight that illuminates the dreary sky, then he will wear that responsibility with pride.  
  


It's no good to mope all the time.  
  


But the problem is, he _has_ been moping—kinda—and it's been bogging everyone down. He didn't sign up for Burning Rescue to be a burden on his colleagues, but he feels like he's becoming one, either way.  
  


The shifts at Burning Rescue nowadays have been rather boring. Aside from the occasional cat rescue (fairly fun) or arson-based hate crime against the still-recovering Burnish (not as fun), there hasn't been much to do. And—okay, Galo knows that this is a _good_ thing. More fires = less people hurt, or dead. But it also means that he's got nothing to do for the entire day, aside from lounge around for what feels like a bajillion years, go home, eat some shitty takeout, sleep, and repeat.  
  


After the events of the Second World Blaze (though Galo thinks the name is kinda stupid—wasn't it technically the _last_ , now that the Promare were sealed into their other space-time dimension thingy? Actually, he doesn't really know the semantics of it all; he kinda fell asleep when Computer Man was giving his exposition dump), Burning Rescue had gotten to work on prying the Burnish out of the pods of the Parnassus.  
  


Without Lio there to lead them, the Burnish were distrustful of them at first—which was fair; while he was never Burnish, Galo recognizes that the amount of generational hurt and shared trauma the Burnish had to face leads into wariness of others outside of their populace. However, after he'd managed to free Lio's generals—he thinks their names are Meis and Gueira?—the ambiance took a subtle, albeit noticeable, turn for the better.  
  


The two of them instructed and led the rest of the efforts to force the capsules open in lieu of Lio's own leadership. Galo is starting to see how Lio might not _actually_ be Mad Burnish's boss for all thirty years, if the fervour and semi-professionalism which Gueira and Meis demonstrated was any indication of such a musing.  
  


There were times when they opened one of the pods, and the person inside was safe and sound. Those were the better moments.  
There were also times, however, when they would open a pod and be met with the hollow sound of ashes trickling away in the draft. They had to close the capsule securely during those moments so that the remains wouldn't blow away.  
  


And then, sometimes, they'd open a pod and hear the faint sobs of the child stuck inside.  
Those were the moments that Galo hated most.  
  


Kray had used children to power his ship, too.  
Just how many of those ashes belonged to them?  
  


Later, they'd have to figure out who was missing, who was dead, and then contact any loved ones—it was all so depressing. Was this the definition of "normal" for the Burnish? Gueira and Meis's reactions showed that it was, and with every empty pod they'd opened, Galo only felt the dull thrum of heartache in his chest.  
  


After all of the pods had been opened and cleared, the Burnish were quickly escorted to temporary shelters. During the buzz of it all, the red-headed one (was this one Meis? Or was he Gueira?) stomped over to Galo, pulled him by the barely-put-together harness of his sleeve, and growled out a, " _Where_ in the _fuck_ is our Boss."

  
Galo, slightly terrified, albeit still attempting to be sympathetic, had whined out something akin to "I don't know," "Turned himself in," and "Bailing out soon," slurred together in a cocktail of squeals.

  
Whatever came out of Galo's mouth seemed to satisfy him for the time being, and he wrenched his grip away, muttering up a storm as he marched back to his partner.  
  


That was two weeks ago.  
  


Lio got busted out of prison two days after that, thanks to a Burnish (ex-Burnish? Former Burnish? No, that sounds wrong; 'Burnish' should still be alright) lawyer who had approached Galo a few hours after he and Lio had punched the impending apocalypse out of the Earth, and minutes before the latter had been led away into a police cruiser.  
  


"You should stay at my place!" Galo had asked a week after that.  
He extended the offer to Lio excitably, already thinking of how much fun they'd have—waking up to pop music, making breakfast together, helping the Burnish get back to their everyday lives, maybe even fighting city council alongside one another… It was true that they had only known each other for a handful of days, but the two of them drift-piloted a kickass robot together. That had to count for _something_ , right?  
  


But a week ago, Lio had looked at Galo, gave a polite smile, and said, "No, thank you."  
And Galo isn't sure if Lio's avoiding him, but he also thinks that maybe Lio's been avoiding him since that day.  
  


Which brings him to where he is now, splayed on the couch of the BR common room, totally-not-moping but-also-yes-kinda.  
  


At least, he _was_ moping, up until Aina busted in, and all but dragged Galo up from his spot in order to host what the two of them liked to call a Friendly Lesbian-Gay Solidarity Sibling Intervention™.  
But here's the thing: Galo doesn't _need_ an intervention _or_ an Intervention™ (there is definitely a nuance to this) right now. He's just feeling a little rejected, is all. He's fine! Really!!  
  


… _Right?_   
  


Well technically, that's _wrong_ , according to Aina. She sets him up, looks him all over, and places her hands on her hips, lips crooked diagonally in a disapproving frown.  
  


"Something's up," she says as if this is a given fact, and not just her opinion. "You look like a kicked puppy, Galo. I thought maybe you wanted some space, but the more we're seeing you like this, the more concerning it's getting."  
"Wait, 'we'?" Galo questions, totally not deflecting the actual topic at hand.  
  


"Yes, 'we,' as in me and everyone else here. Even the pizza owner said something felt off when we visited for lunch the other day." Oh jeez, now he's even getting the pizza owner involved? Galo feels guilty about getting so many people caught up in his issues. "Now stop avoiding it. You're upset. Talk to me." And then, dialling the sternness of her tone down, she adds, "Please?"  
  


"I didn't realize it was that obvious," Galo admits. He flexes his fingers, wanting to find some way to work through the torrent of thoughts running through his head.  
"Uh _doy,_ it's obvious," Aina huffs. "We're your family, Galo. We care about you. If I was feeling down, you'd also come talk to me about it, right?"  
To this, Galo relents, sighing. "Yeah, yeah…"  
  


"O-kay!" And with a flourish, Aina procures a packet of Choco Pie from the inside of her aviator jacket, as well as a few other snacks, which she proceeds to unceremoniously dump onto the table. Wait, was she waiting to unload all of that stuff this whole time?!  
  


Galo takes one of the Choco Pies, the sound of crinkling ringing through the room when he goes to unwrap it, and shoves it into his mouth with a _homph!  
  
_

"I'm not sure if Lio likes me," he finally says between bites, crumbs spilling out onto his shirt. He dusts them away with the back of his hand.  
"He doesn't like you?" Aina repeats, head cocking in confusion. "What makes you think that?"  
Galo shrugs, taking another chomp of chocolate. "I asked him if he wanted to stay at my place for a while, and he said no." Now that he's actually said it aloud, it kinda sounds dumber than he's been making it out to be.  
  


"I think he's been staying at the Burnish shelter," Aina supplies, giving a small hum. She picks lazily at a package of Pocky treats. "Even when he's here, he's just flipping through his papers all day. Is there any reason why you feel so down about it, though?"  
  


"Well, that's the _thing._ I don't know _why_ I'm so upset about him saying no, and I know I'm just blowing this all out of proportion—" He's rambling. He knows this. Galo doesn't _do_ succinct and subtle; he's always been, in his own words, balls to the walls about everything. Either that, or he elicits not to talk about his feelings _at all._ "And it's like, I _know_ that Lio needs his space, 'cause I need it, too, and it's totally freaking unhealthy if we were, like, with each other twenty-four-freaking-seven, but it's just!" At this, Galo throws his hands up and waves them around.  
  


"It feels like he's avoiding me? But I _know_ that's not the truth, and I keep rationalizing it to myself—" he's pacing back and forth around Burning Resque HQ's communal space now, clenching and unclenching his fists, "—like, 'Come on, Galo, the guy literally survived _almost freaking dying_ and now he's got a bajillion and a half things to do because no one sees how much he deserves a break,' but I just keep thinking that he's doing this on purpose, right? And I'm like, 'Haha oh my _God_ , don't have an RSD-induced breakdown, king, you're _so_ sexy, except this _isn't_ sexy, and I just—"  
  


Galo stomps over towards the couch, takes one of the throw pillows, and proceeds to scream into it.

  
It's at this moment that Galo thinks Aina may have her work cut out for her this time.  
  


She places her biscuits down, sauntering over to give Galo a hearty pat on the back. Her hand begins pressing small circles against the fabric of his shirt, and the action does well to soothe him.

  
"Sorry," he says, and the pull of the pillow away from his face accentuates the shudder in his breath, "I didn't mean to dump all of that on you."  
"Psh, no worries!" Aina gives a flippant wave with her free hand, giving Galo an optimistic grin. "I more or less cornered you into this, and it seems like you've got a lot on your mind. How do you feel now?"  
Galo hums, comparing the emotions running around in his head to the absolute storm he had been grappling with just a few moments before. "A lot better now that I've gotten some of it out, actually!"  
  


"It's almost your lunch break. How about we talk more about this over some pizza?" Aina offers, sky-blue hues twinkling.  
This gets Galo to beam. "How do you always know what to say to me to cheer me up, Aina?"  
"That's easy," she says, as she straightens him up and shoves him out the door. "It's because _you_ always know what to say to get _me_ feeling better. But I seriously think you should talk to Lio about how you feel next time you see him."  
  


"You think?" Galo rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.  
Aina tugs on the ends of her sleeves. "If you want things to work out between the two of you, then yeah. There's probably a reason why he's avoiding you. Sibling Solidarity?"  
"You're right—oh, wait!" Galo backs up a second to grab his coat from the rack at the front. When he half-jogs back to Aina, he slings an arm around her, pulling the pilot close to him. "Sibling Solidarity!"  
  


▲▲▲  
  


Apparently, "next time you see Lio" means "a few days after our lunch-slash-vent session."  
  


Galo's idling in the mailroom of his apartment complex, shuffling through the absolute monster of a stack in his hands. He flips through the envelopes quickly under the fluorescent lightbulb that the utility calls "ample lighting" for the room (FYI, it is _not_ ample in any sense of the word), trying to see if there's anything urgent that he needs to open the minute he's back in his room.  
  


He hears the door creaking open, and shuffles to the corner so as to not impede whoever just came in on their journey to their own mailbox. It's at this time that he hears a familiar voice.  
  


"Wh— _Galo?_ "  
  


Looking up from his ensemble of papers, Galo finds himself staring right at Lio Fotia himself. He tries to say something, but he knows that a sudden confrontation probably wouldn't end well. Maybe an attempt at small talk? Or a general inquiry as to how he's been lately? But before his brain can actually formulate something to say, his mouth moves on its own, and he dumbly asks:  
  


"Why are you here?"  
  


_Oh my God.  
_ _Oooh my God—  
  
_

Luckily, Lio seems to find a little amusement in the question, twirling the keys around his finger before deftly sifting through them in his hand in order to jam the mail key into one of the boxes.  
"I'm getting the mail," he says like a smartass, jiggling the key a little to get it to open. "But I assume that's not what you're really asking, are you."  
  


"Did you just move in here, or…?" Galo has no idea how to keep this conversation rolling. This is really awkward.  
Lio's much more of a natural at this than he is, giving a noncommittal hum. "Gueira and Meis wanted to rent out a space for the three of us," he explains. "But it's mainly just the happy couple jazzing it up right now. I'm—ah, there we go—" Lio sighs happily when he manages to pop the mailbox open, leaning down to gather his things, "—much too busy to actually spend time in the apartment."  
  


"Happy cou…" Galo parrots back, eyebrows scrunching up. And then it hits him. "Oh, you mean they're—!"  
"Married?" Lio chirps in tandem, before straightening from his position and slamming the box shut with a curt bump of his hip. "Yeah, they're real mushy and gay. It'd be super cute if it wasn't also super gross."  
"What about Thyma?"  
"Oh," Lio's voice lifts into a pained falsetto, "She's still recovering. But she's out of the hospital now. Her brother's a nurse, so he's been helping her out with whatever she needs. Luckily, they lived together, so she had a home to go back to after everything."  
"Good!" Galo says happily, and he means it. Truth be told, the only things he knows about Thyma are that she was the one he had rescued on his first mission as a bonafide firefighter, and also that she and Aina have a Thing going on (though he's still unsure if it's a Friend Thing, or a _Girl_ friend Thing). But it's nice to know that she's doing alright.  
  


This talk about Lio's friends is nice and all (even if Galo still has no idea if Meis is the blue or red one) but that's not what he's trying to get at here. He opens his mouth now that he's had time to draw up an actual game plan in his mind, but before he can even get a single word out, Lio's phone buzzes from inside his jacket pocket, and he's bustling around and gathering his things to leave.  
  


"See you, Galo." He calls out from the door of the mailroom, leaving no room whatsoever for any reply.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


"Excuse me. I'm here to see Dr. Heris Ardebit."  
  


The person behind the counter, already preoccupied with a phone call, holds up a finger towards Lio, before muttering what sounds like 'So, Monday at 3:00?' and 'See you then, Mr. Tao.' She types something fierce onto her computer before turning to him with a smile.  
  


"Name and ID, please."  
He pulls up the application on his phone which contains his bona fides, slipping it onto the counter for her to scan.  
  


Since Lio still has no idea when his birth year is, the city council opted to give him one of those fancy official identification tags with the city's emblem stamped at the front. Given that the stupid tracker is still in his ankle, it's not as if he can really do anything illegal with his ID—not like he'd planned to, either way. Apparently, in the years that he's been away from society, they've digitized practically everything—it took Lio a few weeks to parse through the fact that he'd be able to pay for his groceries just by double tapping on his phone and placing his fingerprint on the home button.  
  


It all seems less like semantics, and more like a farce.  
Do people nowadays really just trust the government with all of their personal information like this?  
  


The clerk absentmindedly takes his phone, swiping a scanner over it to ensure that, yes, this is actually Lio Fotia, and—  
Her eyes blow up to the size of dinner plates as she recognizes exactly who she's giving authorization to. She stares at him, almost as if to confirm that the person standing before her is the same as the person on the ID card.  
  


"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mx. Fotia, I—"  
He holds up a hand, palm facing towards her, and interjects. "It's fine," Lio chuckles, unabashedly. "Just treat me like every other regular Joe who's passing by here. I much prefer that."  
She nods, all the words seemingly knocked out of her chest. Poor lady. Lio can't help but feel sorry for her, in some way, and for some reason.  
  


"Here you are," she says, after a silence punctuated with just the clacking of keys on her keyboard. Lio is handed back his phone, along with a lanyard which has a tag clipped to it. "Just follow the hallway on your right over there," she emphasizes the instruction by stretching over the desk and pointing over to Lio's right, "and after a quick search, you'll be able to see Ms. Heris Ardebit."  
  


After a thorough search of his belongings (and then another. And another. You'd think pending property damage, arson, and murder charges would give a guy a little more leeway during security checks), Lio is quickly escorted into a little white room. In the middle is a cubicle, separated by glass that reaches up all the way to the ceiling. Heris Ardebit is seated on the other side.  
  


Pulling the sole chair provided to him, Lio settles down. It's made out of what must be the most rigid material on the planet, and it all but digs into his butt when he tries to wiggle around and make himself more comfortable.  
  


Promepolis needs to make some serious adjustments to their prisons.  
  


Setting down his manila folder of various papers, Lio wastes no time in getting to work.  
While Heris and the other scientists at Foresight Foundation had been arrested for their involvement in the Parnassus Project, Heris's attorney had managed to cut a deal with the state for her: she would be given a reduced sentence if she chose to assist in restoring Promepolis to its former glory, as well as provide a damning testimony against Kray Foresight himself.  
Likewise, as part of his duties with the Burnish Reconciliation Project, Lio has solicited to meet with her every week in order to hash out and reverse-engineer the same technology which had been used to harm his people—though, this time, it's with the intent to aid.  
  


They fall into customary clockwork, with Lio asking Heris questions about the Parnassus and Promepolitan technology ("Can we use stem cell research to restore the missing organs of Parnassus rescuees?", "How respectable is the technology at Fero Prosthetics?", "We managed to get all of the Burnish out of that ship. …You didn't design those pods with the intent to ever open them, did you?"), and Heris answering to the best of her ability ("I believe it's possible. The Promare more or less served as a way to rapidly accelerate physical healing. We should be able to replicate the process," "They're one of the best prosthetic companies in the world, and their CEO is well-known for his pro-Burnish stance," "…No. We did not. I'm sorry").  
  


It doesn't feel like an hour has passed, but when the guard raps his hand against the metal door, barking a, "Time's up," Lio almost jumps back in his seat. He's quick to gather his things, poised to leave.  
  


"Anything else for today?" He asks this at the end of every session, but the reply he receives is always a silent shake of the head.

  
"Do you hate me?"  
  


The question comes from seemingly nowhere, and Lio glances towards the elder Ardebit sister, gauging her expression. It is level, as taciturn as it's ever been since he'd met her.  
  


"Excuse me?"  
"What I did to the Burnish—to your people. I'm asking if you hate me for it. I wouldn't blame you if you do." She wrings her fingers; Once. Twice. Her stare is unwavering.  
  


"Hate...?" Lio rolls the word around in his tongue, tastes the bitterness and bile attached to such a concept. It feels heavy in his throat; in his heart. He shakes his head. "No. There is too much hate in the world as is for me to hate you."  
  


This seems to take her by surprise, but she deigns not to say another word.  
  


A moment lapses by, a silence, unpaused.  
And then another moment. And another one.  
  


Finally, Lio gets up. Against the stark hush surrounding the room, the clack of his boots against the tiled flooring reverberates soundly. He makes his way to the door, gently opens it—  
And stops just before he's fully out, hand splayed against the doorframe.  
  


"Actually, Dr. Ardebit?" Heris looks up, at where his lithe figure lies. "I lied. Just a little bit." His expression is wry—a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, an amalgamate of sorrow and disdain.  
  


"I don't hate you for what you did. But I don't think I'll ever forgive you."  
  


With that, the door clicks shut.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


The younger Ardebit sister, Lio finds, is much more pleasurable to talk to than the elder one.  
  


Then again, one of them aided in a megalomaniacal politician’s plan to commit genocide on Lio’s people, and the other aided him in saving the entire world. It’s a no-brainer as to who wins the 'Best Ardebit' award in Lio’s opinion.  
  


Aina—which is her name, by the way; he tries not to associate the two aloud in front of her, especially considering the fact that the poor woman probably has a boatload of psychological issues to sort through surrounding the topic of her sister, much as Lio does, himself—is a reliable person with a steady head on her shoulders.  
  


She’s a wonderful problem-solver, a sound thinker, and she doesn’t let the stress cloud her judgement during particularly difficult rescue endeavours. While Lio’s learned all of this about her from seeing the pilot in action, he’s also admittedly learned a few of these things from Galo (her best friend) and Thyma (her girlfriend).  
  


So, it’s a surprise, to say the least, when Lio catches her drinking in the kitchenette at Burning Rescue HQ.  
  


Then again, it’s probably just as much of a shock for her to see Lio emerge from outside smelling like something straight from a nicotine factory.  
  


"Um. Hi," he says stupidly, mouth gaping like a goldfish.  
"Hi," she echoes, tipping her shot glass at him as if to say, 'same.'  
  


Which, to be fair, fits the situation.  
  


He pads into the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge to find the sandwich which Galo had left for him earlier that morning. When he emerges, it’s with the sandwich in tow, along with the cute sticky note plastered onto the tupperware it was in.  
  


'Don’t skip lunch!!!' it reads in gaudy pink highlighter. Lio could recognize the messy chicken scratch that Galo calls his handwriting even if he were blindfolded. He smiles, completely on instinct, at the sweet gesture.  
  


Aina coughs in front of him, fist curled against her lips.  
  


Oh, right.  
Oops.  
  


Pulling out one of the barstools set in front of the counter, Lio hops onto it and shimmies from side to side until he’s able to comfortably prop his elbows onto the smooth surface. He unwraps his lunch, all too aware of the eyes boring into the very fabric of his soul.  
  


He turns towards Aina, lips pinched in a taut line.  
  


"So," he says, still stupidly, "how have you been?"  
Aina shoots him a dead-eyed stare, holding up the shot glass, which she proceeds to pour another round in.  
"Okay. Duly noted." And then he awkwardly goes back to nibbling at his bread.

_  
'Christ on a stick. I am so very uncomfortable right now.'  
  
_

Lio wants to become closer to Aina—he really does. Galo and Thyma always talk about how the two of them would probably make good friends, but Lio has no idea how in the fuck he’s supposed to strike up conversation with her, since he’s pretty sure, _'Haha, isn’t it coincidental that your sister invented the same technology that literally killed me just to save your life?'_ isn’t exactly pleasant gossip material.  
  


Not to mention, with how swamped he’s been in regards to the Burnish Reconciliation Project, it’s not like he’s had time to discover the interests of Burning Rescue 3’s members—Galo included—even though they work in the same building.  
So, all Lio knows about Aina is: 1) She’s the better Ardebit sister, 2) Thyma’s girlfriend, and the lesbian best friend to Galo’s idiot gay, and 3) Pilots an aircraft in a position that probably requires her to see a chiropractor at least twice a week, considering how it doesn’t look all too comfortable.

  
Great. Lio only knows three things about Aina Ardebit, and two of them are in relation to _other_ people.  
  


(Technically, there’s a fourth: 4) Apparently prefers to drink Hennessy in the kitchen of her workplace on off hours.)  
  


"How'd the meeting with my sister go yesterday?" Oh, is _this_ what she's trying to make conversation with?  
Lio turns to grab a shot glass for himself, but the minute he swivels around in his chair, Aina's already gotten a cup raised towards him. He accepts it, but he makes sure that she knows he's not _happy_ about that.  
  


"Alright," he spits out, all predispositions jumping out the window as he tries to drown the lump in his throat with alcohol. It burns, but not in the way that he wants it to. "I'm planning to meet with the people at Fero tomorrow so we can talk about getting prosthetic limbs for anyone who wants them."  
"Ah," Aina says, nursing her own glass. She nods to the bottle, now placed on the counter, as if to offer it to him. Lio gladly obliges, pouring another round for himself. "And how have _you_ been, Lio Fotia?"  
  


Okay, now he's _really_ uncomfortable.  
  


"I've been better," he says. A brow is quirked. "You?"  
"Meh." She takes a sip, but something makes her face sour, and Aina instead places her shot on the counter, next to the bottle. "Do you seriously not hate my sister?"  
Lio's eyes widen. "What do you mean?" Now it's his turn to mimic the action, setting his glass down and swiping off a dash of liquor collecting at the rim, licking the excess from his thumb.  
  


"I mean," and now she turns towards him, probably an indicator that Aina Ardebit means business. Lio is, admittedly, a little scared. "She literally aided in the mass murder of thousands of people. _Your_ people." The way she says this so distantly is startling, but Lio is aware of the words hidden underneath. _She did this for_ my _sake. Why don't you hate_ me, _Lio Fotia?_ "You're not the only one visiting her. I just feel like it'd be okay if you actually did hate her."

  
"Then do _you_ hate her, Ms. Ardebit?" Aina turns pallid, lips parted in a silent gasp.   
"Don't call me that," she finally hisses out after a dragged beat of silence.  
"…I'm sorry," Lio says. He wasn't trying to make a jab at her; was merely acting on the primal instinctiveness of politeness and courtesies. But he still hit her in a sore spot, and he feels genuinely remorseful for it. "I didn't mean to insinuate that…" He sighs, reaching up to paw at his bangs. "I know you're not your sister. And I know that you're not responsible for her actions."  
  


"How can you be so sure?"  
  


Her voice cracks on the last word, and Lio doesn't like it one bit. While he only knows so little about Aina, he knows that he never wants to hear her sound so _broken_ ever again.  
  


"…Do you think that it's your fault?" Lio tries to keep his words level, similar to the way that Dr. Hart speaks to him.  
"She did all of this for my sake," Aina replies, voice barely a whisper. "How am I ever going to make up for all of the lives lost because of me?"  
"Well, you don't have to."  
"What?" She looks at Lio, blue eyes boring straight into sunset-dyed ones, scandalized.  
"Is the idiot virus contagious in this building?" He hopes that his tone comes off comical; Gueira always manages to cheer him up with well-timed humour. He wants to return the favour towards Aina. "You're not liable for any of what your sister has done. Heris is Heris. But _you're you_ , Aina. And you wouldn't have wanted any of this to have happened. The fact that you feel guilty for something _you didn't even do,_ and are helping as much as you are with the Burnish, already proves that you're a good person." Lio's eyes soften, as does his speech. "Thyma says so many wonderful things about you. So does Galo. You literally helped us save the world. Give yourself a little more credit for that."  
  


Aina seems to take his words to heart, sniffling as she breathlessly lets loose a shaky smile.  
"Yeah. You're right. It'll take some time, but…" She moves to thumb away at the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I think we’re all gonna be okay. Thank you, Lio."  
  


There's a soft quietness that settles between the two of them, accompanied by the distant sounds of what sounds to be metal banging from another room. Probably Lucia with her gadgets; Lio's curiosity as to what exactly goes on in that lab of hers only grows day by day.  
And then, Aina says again: "How are you? _Really,_ this time."  
  


Fuck it. If Aina trusted Lio enough to confide in him, then he can, with her, as well.  
  


"It's been…" Lio grasps for the right words, "It's been difficult," he admits. Aina pushes the bottle and shot glasses away from her, leaning against the counter with an elbow. Lio continues, "I'm not even sure _who_ I am, at this point."  
It's finally out in the open: the month-long conundrum that's been brewing a tempest in the crevices of his mind. Was Lio ever truly the lighthouse in this analogy? He feels more and more like the shipwrecked sailor the more the days bleed on.  
  


The pilot closes the distance between the two of them, gathering Lio's hands in her own; her grip is tight, but honest. "You're _you_ , Lio." He smiles at the clever reversal. Again: sound thinker. "Even if you're still figuring out who that is, no one can take that away from you."  
Lio squeezes back, half-heartedly. "How can you say that so easily?" Whether it's the drinks, or the burden that's been lifted off of his shoulders now that he's verbalized his identity crisis, but Lio feels weightless as he replies.  
  


"Because there's a spark inside of you," she says, and the earnesty in her reply leaves no room for doubt. "And it has always existed inside of you. Whether you're Lio Fotia: leader of Mad Burnish, Lio Fotia: unwilling member of a council of pompous old men," that one gets a snort out of him, "or just _Lio_ , you're still _you._ "  
"Yeah." Lio feels the need to blink back his tears. Always with the tears, nowadays. "You too." And when he presses his fingers against Aina's soft hands, he squeezes down with full fervour. "You're not someone living in her sister's shadow. You're you, Aina."   
  


She shakes her hands free of the embrace, offering Lio a reassuring smile.  
  


"You should go talk to Galo," she murmurs. "I think the two of you are more alike than you think you are."  
  


Without giving Lio room for reply, she cleans up after herself, and darts out of the room, leaving Lio behind with his own half-empty glass, but a lightness in his heart.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


_Mr. Galo Tyhmos,_ fancy curved lettering on a fancy card reads, _You are cordially invited to the Burnish Charity Ball.  
  
_

Galo flips the card over, taking in the details for the event. Apparently it'll be hosted in order to raise funds for the Burnish Reconciliation Project. While he knows that Lio’s in charge of reintegration efforts, he’s pretty sure that this idea is entirely borne from the heads of the city council members.  
  


At least Lio would know how to spell Galo’s name correctly.  
  


Setting the invitation down, Galo wonders if he even has any suits fancy enough to wear to such a thing. He’s already made up his mind to attend—it’s only fair to show up in solidarity and support with the Burnish. His gaze wanders to the expanse of his living room.  
  


Galo's place is starting to look like a pigsty.  
  


Technically speaking, it always looks like one. Aina complains enough about it every time she comes over, though the person who gives the worst criticisms is always Remi.  
Still, it's not like anyone can blame Galo for not keeping up with cleanliness for the past few weeks. When you've saved the world, you get a free pass at this sort of thing, don't you? At least Galo thinks so.  
  


The past two weeks have been a steady stream of work-sleep-work, so the minute things began to slow down, Ignis had given Galo a firm clap on the shoulder, lowered his shades, and immediately went: "You're getting the next two days off."  
  


And then he shoved Galo out the door before he even knew what was happening.  
Kinda rude, but whatever.  
  


So now he's stuck in his downtown Promepolis apartment, with nothing to do but tidy up. While it was definitely hard to kick his executive dysfunction out of gear and actually get started on chores, Galo finds himself slipping into hyperfocus mode pretty easily. He opens Spotify and "Hey, Google"s a playlist aptly named "Music to Clean the House to While Using Your Vacuum as a Mic" to blast on his speakers, and gets perhaps just a _little_ too into his rendition of Janelle Monae’s _Make Me Feel.  
  
_

It’s a pretty good performance if Galo had anything to say on it (and he does, since his audience solely consists of himself and his shiba inu plush, Ryuko. Spoiler alert: Ryuko also loved it). He ties all of his junk up in a plastic bag he’d gotten from a purchase at the local Dollar Store, setting it aside near his front entrance to be taken out to the garbage room later.  
  


Alright, living room—done. Kitchen—done! All that’s left is his own room, and the bathroom. Galo turns his speakers off, planning to just idly turn on the radio in his clock to keep him company.  
  


And then his mood completely flips, making a head dive into the abyss once he walks into his room and has to stare at the poster of Kray that he’d hung on the wall when he first moved in.  
  


He forgets how to breathe for a second, hand resting against his chest as if he were squeezing the extra palpitations of his heart out of it. He steadies himself and sets on the edge of his bed, shutting his eyes, and counting down from ten.  
  


When he opens his eyes, the poster is still there.  
  


After Kray had rescued Galo from the blaze that took his home and family, he was promptly placed in the foster care system. While he had rationalized that it was probably due to the fact that Kray had been a university student at the time, Galo wonders in retrospect how much of that excuse is true, and how much of it was due to the fact that Kray actually _hated_ the boy who came to see him as a father.  
  


Nonetheless, he _did_ come to visit sometimes, and those days were the happiest times in Galo’s life. He’d gotten into a lot of trouble as an adolescent—constantly getting into fights with the other children in the orphanage. But there was no other outlet for his frustration—for the sheer _despair_ that losing everything he loved had wrought upon him. How else was an eight-year-old to cope? Galo has never been good with words, but he particularly wasn’t good with them at that age; all he knew was the actualization of his hurt through his fists.  
  


It was Kray who helped him quell that anger.  
  


He had given Galo words of encouragement with a pat on the head and a twinkle in his gaze. And Galo, ever the optimistic fool, had fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker.  
He wonders how much of _that_ was a facade to save face, as well.  
  


Over time, Galo stopped picking fights. He licked his wounds and apologized to the other kids, eventually even befriending some of them. All the while, he worked hard in order to be like Kray. _His hero.  
_ By the time he became a legal adult, Galo had already been trained in CPR, and had just begun taking EMT classes. He packed his belongings up (they all fit in one medium-sized suitcase, and one standard-sized backpack), and with financial assistance from Kray—already Governor at this point—had moved into his own little apartment.  
  


The first thing he’d done was put up that poster.  
  


It’s torn at the edges, because Galo had gotten it when he was a stupid teen who thought that it’d be fine to hang something up by putting the tape directly at the front, but it was his pride and joy.  
  


Three years later, Galo passed his aptitude tests at the firefighters’ academy with flying colours, and Kray immediately placed him amongst the ranks of Burning Rescue’s third unit as their Number Seven.

  
How foolish of him to have thought that it was because he had actually cared.  
  


With the same pent-up rage, Galo begins speaking the same language he’d thrown away as a child for Kray. But this time, it’s _towards_ him. He claws at the back of the poster, ripping it even further in the process.   
  


Whatever—it shouldn’t matter. _All this_ shouldn’t matter. What Galo experienced is pennies compared to what the Burnish had to deal with— _still have to._ It’s nothing compared to how much anguish and suffering and rage and pain and hurt that Lio has had to—  
  


_Lio.  
  
_

With all of his emotions now crashing down on him, Galo wonders if that’s why Lio’s been avoiding him. After the high of piloting the Lio de Galon together wore off, did Lio still see Galo as another supporter of Kray?  
  


He wouldn’t blame him if that was the case.  
But a small, much more selfish, part of Galo wishes that this isn’t the truth.  
  


The poster finally comes off, and Galo crumples it up, unsure of what to do with the maelstrom in his mind. He sets a path towards the front door, all but shoving the paper (and his feelings, and his trauma, and his frustrations) into the bag he’d placed there. Slipping his sneakers on—no socks, because fuck it—he wrenches the door open, and heads for the garbage to get rid of everything, once and for all.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


The next time Lio sees Galo, it's at their apartment unit's garbage room.  
  


He's lugging a small plastic Dollar Store bag with him, stuffed with some papers and what looks to be cardstock material. A poster? Lio frowns, wrinkling his nose.  
  


"I thought you were the type to sort your recyclables, Mr. Good Samaritan."  
"Huh?" Galo blinks confusedly before holding up the bag containing his crimes. "Oh."  
  


He shrugs halfheartedly before sauntering his way over to the large recycling reciprocal in the room. It's blue; rusted at the sides. Holding the bag upside down, Galo shakes the papers out of the bag until they all flutter down into the unit. A few cling to the edges, and Lio sees the poster for what it is; sees Kray's face, impartial and subdued—a mockingbird croaking incessantly in his ear, even though Lio is fully aware that the real thing is locked behind bars, awaiting trial.  
  


"So," Galo says, just as Lio is about to dump his own shit into the garbage bin—this one is grey— "How you been?"  
Lio's reply is a non-answer, at best: "I've been." And then he tilts his head towards Galo, as if to issue a challenge. "And you?"  
"I've been," Galo parrots back. The light overhead flickers and dims.  
  


The shorter mutters to himself, before rolling the sleeves of his sweater up. Hauling the garbage bag up and over into where it's supposed to be is a seemingly much more difficult task than just shoving it in, and his height is but a bane on his day-to-day life. He heaves the bag back with a swing, and uses the velocity of his throw to chuck it straight into the bin with a satisfying thunk.  
  


When he turns back, he sees Galo's gaze, piercing right at him. But he isn't looking at Lio—not really. And when Lio's eyes follow the general direction of what exactly he's staring at, he pauses.  
  


Oh.  
Right.  
  


Coiled around Lio's arms are faint scars, thin lines with little edges poking out every which way. He'd been trying his best to hide them, especially from Galo, but here in the vague lighting of their unit's trashiest room (literally), they're on full display like some kind of freak show exhibit.  
  


"Are those…?" Galo gawks, and Lio feels defensiveness flare up from within him.  
"From the Parnassus? Yes." Lio snaps, with just a little too much bark and bite. He feels the tips of his ears burning with shame as he shuffles his sleeves back down to his wrists.  
  


Galo holds his hands up, splayed at the sides of his face, as if to acquiesce himself of malice. "Sorry," he replies, shoving his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans soon after. "I didn't mean it like that, I just—"  
"Then what _did_ you mean it like, Galo?" Lio knows this is unfair—Galo has only been kind to him, has given him so much more than he's ever deserved, but the way he's being scrutinized right now, even if it's not intentional, just reminds him of that memory; of being tied to the pod of the Lio de Galon (it was _theirs_ , goddammit, how the fuck could Kray take what was made to shelter the Burnish and use it to inflict so much pain and suffering and anguish—) with barbed wire like a butterfly pinned to a display case—  
  


Fuck.  
Lio's breath shudders when he inhales deeply, counting down from five.  
  


"I just feel like you're running away from me." Lio's breath catches itself in a hitch on the exhale. Galo turns towards him, eyes captured in an uncharacteristically melancholic light. His eyebrows are scrunched up, and his lip crooks itself into a pout. "You know I care about you, Lio. But you keep avoiding me, and I can't help thinking. Did I…" And with that, he looks at the leftover papers still in his bag, looks at the poster of Kray he was supposed to be throwing out. "Did I do something wrong?"  
  


"No, Galo, of course not!" Lio finds himself answering before he's even got all of the puzzle pieces aligned. His heart practically squeezes itself in his chest at the thought of Galo thinking that Lio's avoidance was because of him—no no no, never, never, never. "I just…"  
  


A silence settles between them, long and uncomfortable. It drags on for so long that Lio feels like if he were to reach his hand out and grasp at the air, he'd still have something tangible in his fingers.  
  


Lio breaks the silence first.  
  


"...PTSD."  
"Huh?"  
Lio unfurls his fingers from the fist of his right hand, using the left to tally things up. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and some paranoiac tendencies-slash-symptoms, though not the disorder in its entirety." He ticks his diagnoses off with all the nonchalance of conjuring a grocery list. It makes Galo blanch, which Lio supposes is the correct reaction, but he can't find it in himself to care about this anymore. "At least, that's what my therapist says. Diagnosing is hard to do when the waitlist is miles high. So forgive me for wanting to 'run away.'"  
  


He turns towards Galo with a strained smile on his face, one that the both of them know is breaking at the seams.  
  


Galo decides then and there that whatever game they're playing needs to stop. He wrenches the poster out of the bag, tearing it to shreds as he stomps over to Lio. When they're finally face-to-face, he unceremoniously drops the scraps into the garbage dump. Lio, bewildered (to say the least), looks up at Galo as if the man's sprung a second head. He opens his mouth to speak, but Galo beats him to the punch.  
  


"I'm sorry." Such a soft statement spoken with that much care sounds much heavier when it comes out of Galo's lips. "I shouldn't have said it like that. I think both of us were running away, weren't we?"

  
Lio shakes his head, though even he's not sure at what. The sentiment presented towards him? The idea that any of this is Galo's fault? Or perhaps it's because he's so dramatic so as to put a recyclable in the garbage bin just to prove a point? It doesn't matter, either way. "I'm sorry too. You were right. I was avoiding you. I didn't want you to see me like this."  
  


"Like what?"  
"I don't know," Lio falls back, blowing a few loose strands of hair out of his face. "Weak. Unsure. _Useless._ "  
"You're not." Galo lifts his hand, intertwining his fingers with Lio's. "Any of those things, I mean. Tell you what," and he punctuates the upcoming suggestion by tossing the rest of the bag into the grey bin with his free arm, "let's get out of this stinkhole and we can watch a movie back at my place. How's that sound?"

  
Lio wipes at his eyes with the back of his wrist, sniffling. When he looks at Galo again, it's with mirth in his gaze. "Sounds good."  
"Then let's get the fuck out of here—seriously, it _reeks_!"

  
Lio laughs this time—really _laughs_ —as he lets himself be led out of the garbage room and up the stairs.  
  


And if Galo notices that the end of his sleeve is wet?  
Well.  
He doesn't comment on the matter at all.  
  


And Lio is grateful for that.

  
▲▲▲  
  


"Did you get an invitation for the Burnish Charity Ball?" Lio asks as they’re halfway through _Godzilla._ He’d let Galo pick the film, though it was mainly left to run in the background while the two of them caught up with one another.  
  


"I was actually just looking at the one I got, before I headed down," Galo answers. And then he crooks his neck to look at Lio inquisitively. "Why do you ask?"  
"Oh. I just was wondering if you wanted to be my plus-one. Unless you have someone already."  
"What? Lio? For real?! You’re not pranking me, right?"  
"Of course not." Lio gazes up at Galo with a smile in his eyes that mirrors the one dancing on his lips. "We’re Galo de Lion, aren’t we?"  
  


Galo can’t even bother hiding the absolute beam that takes over his face.  
  


But then he reaches to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly.  
  


"I don’t think I have a suit to wear for it, though… Last time I bought one, it was when I started T."  
"That’s okay. I don’t have one, either. Though I feel like they’d let you get away with wearing a hoodie to the event."  
"You think so?"  
"…No, Galo, I was pulling your leg."  
"…Oh."  
"But, I mean… You _are_ kind of a hero…"  
"Don’t say it like that. You’ll just get my hopes up."  
"Okay. You’re right. We should go shopping for suits together. There’s a super fancy tailor a few blocks away from City Hall."  
"Do either of us have the money to afford that?"  
  


"No worries," Lio says, and procures what looks to be a credit card from his pocket, "I’ve been abusing my power as temporary council member _very_ well."   
  


Against the flash of the television screen, Galo makes out the name 'Kray Foresight' punched out on the card.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


Lio has always hated the idea of going to formal events. Maybe it has to do with his Level 50 Secret Past, but he's never done well at even the prospect of them. They were always so stuffy, so full of people who cared more about status and wealth and power than actually making changes in people's lives.  
It's not like it's any different now, working alongside Promepolis's Most Incompetant—the name which Lio has (un)affectionately given to the absolute nads whom he must work alongside if he wants any of his proposals regarding Burnish reconciliation-slash-reintegration-slash-rehabilitation to go through ('re' this, 're' that, Lio just wishes those dunces would show some actual _re_ spect and practice _re_ sponsibility, for Christ's sake).  
  


Some things seem to never change.  
  


What _has_ changed, however, are the things which Lio is unboundedly thankful for: he has friends, a chosen family, people to protect, and also …   
  


"Argh, stupid tie!"  
  


From his side of the dressing room, Galo fumbles a little with his outfit. They've been trying on various assortments of suits for the past hour now, but each iteration has been a little too ugly, a little too tight, or a little too pompous.  
Lio thinks that this is all fair game, considering charity events hosted by, and for, rich schmucks are also too ugly, too tight, and too pompous. But he'd much rather be caught _dead_ than underdressed—especially when the event in question was to help raise funds to build a new housing unit for those affected by the Parnassus Project, and all eyes are on him to represent an entire population reaching the tens of thousands.  
  


No pressure or anything.  
  


Lio glances over his shoulder to check up on Galo. He’s fussing up a storm with his suit, almost as if he were wrestling with the thing. Heaving a sigh, he pauses unbuttoning the frilled blouse he’d been trying on in favour of helping the big oaf with his current conundrum.  
  


Galo notices Lio sauntering over through the dressing room mirror, and ceases his motions in order to cast mirror-Lio a pouting face. The other merely gives a roll of the eyes before he’s spinning a finger, motioning for Galo to turn around. He complies easily, shoulders drooping from their haunched position and leaning down to give Lio better access to the accursed article of clothing.  
  


With a brisk ‘tsk,’ Lio works at the knot in Galo’s tie, undoing it with the casualty of a well-practiced fashion guru.  
"Better?" He asks, voice lilted with half a cup of sardonicism, and a small teaspoon of genuine concern.  
  


Galo heaves a great sigh, as if the tie was constricting him from all respiratory circulation. "Yes. You saved my life, Lio. Thanks." He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, which is already popped and loose, considering how the top two buttons are already undone.  
  


"I just hate the feeling of things against my throat," Galo says, as if Lio had even asked for an explanation, "I guess it’s an ADHD thing? Just feels bad, or whatever. Maybe I’ll bring it up with my therapist on Thursday when I see them."  
  
Lio nods in response. He understands the plight of tactile discomfort—it’s why he prefers the flowy breeziness of blouses to the constricting confines of collars and ties; they make him think of the icy grip of Freeze Force’s bullets set against his trachea. The thought alone makes him shudder.  
  
"Tell you what," he suggests, taking a handful of clothes which Galo had already tried on and had deemed too gaudy for his personal tastes, "I’ll dump our no-goes into the clerk’s hands, get us some water, and then we can tackle this together, runway-style."  
Galo seems to perk up like a puppy at this, eyes shimmering. "I get to pull up my 'Sexy Burning Fashion Model AU' playlist on Spotify?"  
"You get to pull up your 'Sexy Burning Fashion Model AU' playlist on Spotify," Lio confirms, even though he still has no idea what an 'AU' even is. Or Spotify, for that matter. Really, you miss a lot of things when you’ve been on the run for the better part of a decade.  
  


As Lio makes his way out of the dressing room, various clothing pieces in his arms, he hears the sound of Galo pulling his phone out, searching excitedly for his playlist.  
  


"Ah, shit—" And then he proceeds to promptly drop his phone with a resounding clatter, right when Lio kicks the door shut with his foot.  
  


Lio finds the clerk who's been helping them—Marisa—rather easily, and she humbly accepts his offering of what must be at least fifteen different ensembles with a smile on her face.  
  


Seriously, he needed to tip her something generous once they’re done with all of this.  
  


Just as she’s finished placing the pile in a basket—probably to iron out and put back later—Lio asks, "Do you have any water?"  
"We have a dispenser near the back," she replies, smoothing her skirt out with the palms of her hands. "Come, let me escort you there."  
  


Lio fiddles a little with the cuffs of his top as Marisa guides him through the various racks and shelves around the store, stopping before a blue water dispenser—like the ones often found in office buildings. She gestures to it, and Lio nods firmly before filling a little plastic cup with water.  
  


Just as he’s about to take another cup for himself, Marisa clears her throat. "Is everything working out for you today, Mx. Fotia?"  
Lio offers what he can only hope is a reassuring smile. "It’s going well." He ponders on potentially filling a third cup, knowing how Galo is wont to chug water down like a man crawling about in the desert wastes. "Lots of options to choose from. You’ve been an enormous help." Perhaps one more—just to be safe.  
  


Marisa smiles at the reply. "I’m glad! Please, let me know if you need any further assistance."  
"Will do," Lio chirps, and with three cups of water balanced in his hand, he makes his way back to the dressing room.  
  


Expecting his return to be greeted with blaring music and an excitable Galo, Lio is more than blindsided when he pushes the door to the fitting room open and hears a loud thump. It’s soon followed by the sound of Galo’s frustrated groan, as he all but shoves himself down onto the plush bench before the mirror.  
  


Lio gently places the cups down, inching quietly towards him. Galo’s head is in his hands, and he exhales rather viciously through his nostrils. Lio surmises that he can’t see him approaching like this, so instead of placing his hand on his shoulder like he’d intended, Lio pads around him.  
  


After a few seconds lapse between the two of them, Galo sighs shakily, and—oh no, is he _crying_ ? Lio’s heart plummets below surface level at the sound, and he’s all but dropping onto his knees in order to get a good look at the man before him.  
  


"Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?" Lio ghosts his hands around Galo, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. At the very least, he tries to coax his words in honeyed comfort, an ' _I’m here for you'_ left between the subtext of his words.  
  


"Am I a bad person?"  
The brokenness of Galo’s voice pierces through Lio like a glass arrow, and he’s left floundering as he picks up the shards. _Where did this even—  
  
_

"What? No, of course not, Galo, you’re not a bad person. Why do you think that?" His band hovers over Galo’s own, a silent asking of consent.  
Galo seems to get the message, and he offers Lio his hands. As the pad of Lio’s thumb comes to smooth reassuring lines over the back of Galo’s skin, he murmurs, "If I wasn’t so stupid and blind, I would’ve been able to notice."  
  


At this, Lio frowns something fierce. He hasn’t a clue as to what Galo is referring to, but hearing him speak in such a self-deprecating manner saddens him. But how exactly does he verbalize to the man who showed him the wonder of the universe that he’d gift all of it back, and more, just to see his smile?  
  


"When you talk about your life, it just—it makes me feel like I could’ve done something. Instead, I just let Kr—" he pauses, shaking his head, and Lio realizes what this is all about at that moment, "I let _him_ hurt you, and the people you love, all because I was too caught up in my hero-worship. I’m so sorry."  
  


And then he hangs his head lower, voice barely a whisper as he echoes, "I am so, _so_ sorry."  
  


Breathing is suddenly difficult, and the scripts running loose in Lio’s brain all start in different ways. What does he say at this moment? How does he console Galo correctly? He has no idea—in fact, Lio never even considered that Galo was thinking _this much_ about it all. He’d been a victim in this, as well; but Lio had taken that fact as common knowledge, unaware of the doubts and insecurities burrowing into him all this time.  
  


It seems they still have a ways to go when it comes to communicating with one another.

  
"Galo." Lio’s voice is stern, yet kind. "Look at me." It takes a while, but Galo’s eyes soon find Lio’s own. Lio notes the softness of blues melding into red; he’s always got his eye on the target—an eye on the fire. Even now, it’s true.  
  


"You are not at fault for any of his actions." He takes Galo’s hands, squeezes them tight. "He manipulated you—manipulated _everyone_ . When you found us in that cave, and I told you what he had been doing, did you think I was lying?"  
"Yes," Galo says, all too quickly, "Don’t you remember? I even tried to argue back."  
  


But Lio merely shakes his head. "That was a natural response, Galo. Anyone would’ve reacted that way. But no one would’ve thought to have done what you did. How exactly did you get landed in jail after that?"  
  


To this, Galo bites back a small smile. "I told him that if medals were supposed to be received and given by people who were worthy of them, then neither of us deserved it. And then I tried to fight him when he said he wanted to save global warming by committing eugenics."  
Lio mirrors his expression, proud and consoling. "Damn right you did. Galo, you may feel like you’re guilty of a lot of things, but fuck it if we _all_ aren’t. But you were the first non-Burnish up until that point who actually listened to what I had to say." He leans in closer now, almost as if to emphasize his next point. "You made me start believing in a better future again, Galo."  
  


Galo sniffs, fingers coming to tug at the cuffs of his sleeves. "Sorry, I—Ugh!" And then he runs his hands through his hair, scrubbing his head furiously with his nails. "I tried this one on, and when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was _him_ ."  
  


He gestures to the suit he has on, and Lio’s lips part to form an ‘oh’ of understanding. It’s a stark white, similar to the outfit which Kray wore while he was still Governor. There are even gold and blue accents adorning it, though Lio’s partially relieved to see that the palette is barely even suitable for Galo, anyway.  
  


"Your mind started to spiral, didn’t it?" He offers, attempting to fill in the blanks.  
"Yeah," Galo sighs. "It just made me regret the years I spent thinking that he’d ever see me as anything more than a pest."  
  


Lio falls back, gesturing for Galo to straighten his back a little, so that he may assist in getting the stupid thing off of him. He obeys, rolling his shoulders with the movement.  
  


"It’s natural that you’d want the man who practically became your father and mentor to appreciate you," he says, struggling a little with the collar. Even if the thing hadn’t driven Galo into a meltdown, he’s sure he would’ve said no to this one, anyway. It’s much too stuffy. "If I were in that situation, I would’ve been the same. You were only a child."  
  


Galo shrugs, though he grimaces a silent apology when he realizes that the action just makes Lio’s job more difficult. "I guess… Man, that really _was_ fucked up, wasn’t it?" And the way Galo’s voice pitches up, Lio would’ve thought that maybe he’s just now having this epiphany. "He set my fucking house on fire and then tried to take credit for rescuing me!" There’s an audible gasp, almost dramaticized in nature, if not for the fact that Galo Thymos was, by default, already a theatrical man as is. "Oh my God, that’s _so_ messed up, dude!"  
  


Lio isn’t sure how Galo copes with things—the two are similar and different in all the right ways, a walking pair of contradictions and tie-ins—but he hopes that the jests help, if only a little. Thus, he shakes his head humorously. "It _is_ really fucked up," he agrees.  
  


The jacket is taking much too long to pull off, and Lio is getting frustrated with it. Tugging harshly at the sides, he manages to open it up—  
  


And then one of the buttons clatters to the ground, clacking to the sweet symphony of what is undoubtedly the fabric of the suit tearing.  
  


"Um."  
"I…" Lio opens his mouth. And then closes it. And then opens it again. "I’ll…pay for that. And then we can go on the rooftop later and burn it. How’s that?"  
Galo blanches at the suggestion, flickering so hard between varying states of distress that Lio thinks he looks similar to Meis’s Windows 10 laptop, whose hobbies include bluescreening constantly. "Wait, wait, wait, that’s so much to unpack—have you been burning—Lio, wait, this suit is like at least three paychecks' worth—on the _roof_ ?!"  
  


Lio can’t help it—he throws his head back and all but _cackles_ at the situation unfolding in front of them, and it’s not long before Galo joins in.  
Here they are, just two idiots, laughing to themselves, and also at each other.  
  


Some things never change.  
  


"Okay," Lio says, as his giggles die down and he’s wiping away the mirth in his eyes, "Let’s get our show started. Do you have the playlist ready?"  
Galo beams, shrugging off what remains of the suit jacket. "Oh, _do_ I!" He pulls his phone out, and hits the 'play' button on his app. "So, I was thinking of showing off this fit to Janelle Monae…"  
  


When Lio next sees Marisa to ring up their purchases, it’s with two (and a half, technically) sets of suits, and way too many pop songs stuck in his head.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


_Terrorist  
_ _Die in a hole and rot in hell!  
_ _Monster  
_ _Go back to where you came from!  
  
_

Galo looks at the obscenities painted on the side of the venue's outer walls in shock. He doesn't even have to look at Lio to know that the man beside him is shaking.  
  


Taking the jacket of his suit off, Galo turns towards him. "We passed by a corner store on the way here, right? I think we'll be able to scrub this off if we're able to get some vinegar from there. Come on."  
  


Lio follows along, wordlessly. He's quiet as they get back on his bike. He's quiet as they roam the halls of the shop's cooking aisle. He's quiet even as they come back with all the materials needed to rub the profanities off of the walls.  
  


Galo wishes he had something to say to him.  
_Anything_ is better than this.  
  


"You doing okay?"  
Lio swallows thickly. "…Yeah. I-I think so. Sorry. It's just that it's been so long since something like this has happened. It caught me off guard, that's all."  
  


Right.  
Because stuff like this is _normal_ to the Burnish. Is normal to _Lio._ He sounds like he's disappointed in himself, for having had the gall to hope for better.  
  


Fuck that shit.

  
They get to work, silently wiping the words away in tandem.  
  


"You know," Galo's voice cuts through the silence, "Before I met you, I thought that anti-Burnish hatred was because people were scared of you. I mean, that's where you get a lot of those words—'phobia,' as in a fear of something. But I realized after we met in that cave," he rubs furiously at an angry 't,' "These people do these kinds of things because they just hate seeing people they don't understand being _happy._ I just never had the words for it until recently. You changed a lot about my worldview, Lio."  
  


Lio makes an 'mm' sound in acknowledgement. "I used to believe that non-Burnish could never be accepting of us," he admits. "That was why I tried to build a settlement far away from everyone. There are still some bigots around who do shit like this, but…" He stops wiping to chance a look at Galo. "There are many more who are willing to learn and change. It doesn't mean that I'm not still wary. But I believe this world is worth saving."  
  


"Technically, you _did_ save it." Galo grins.  
"Yeah," Lio smiles back at him. It's absolutely dazzling. "You did, too."  
  


▲▲▲  
  


It's only been an hour and a half, but Galo is sure that he's going to swear off fancy formal events for the rest of his life.  
  


Okay, that’s technically a lie. Galo is here to support the Burnish—he’s not going to turn his back on them just because he’s not a fan of snobby rich people.  
  


But the snobby rich people do make it very hard for him to actually enjoy the party.  
  


Aina sidles up to him, a fancy wine glass rimmed with shrimp in her hand. She's wearing a stunning blue dress that highlights her eyes. It glimmers like starlight against the brightness of the ballroom.  
"So," she pops a shrimp into her mouth and offers Galo the glass, "Are you just as bored as I am, or what?"  
"Oh thank God I'm not the one one who thinks this is super dull." Galo gently pushes the shrimp away, politely declining her offer. She shrugs as if to say _'more for me'_ . "Have you seen Lio around?"  
  


The minute the two of them had arrived through the doors, smelling vaguely of vinegar and dirt, they were pulled apart by various people. Galo's met with Ignis and Remi and Varys and Lio's lawyer, Chyros (whose name he finally remembered), and some other fancy people he's seen flanking Kray before, but he's yet to run into the mint-haired boy again.  
  


"I haven't," Aina answers. She puts another serving of shrimp into her mouth before pointing at the buffet, "But I _have_ seen his two generals." Galo's eyes follow the direction of her finger, landing on the infamous duo. The red-haired one is dressed in a standard tux, while the blue-haired one seems to have foregone it entirely, donning nothing but a tank top. What an absolute power move.  
"God," Galo sighs, rubbing a hand through his slicked hair, "What are their names again? I literally keep getting them mixed up."  
Aina drags out an 'um' sound from her lips. "I think it's Gays and Myer?"  
That definitely sounds wrong, and Galo tells her that. She just shrugs in response.

  
The two of them make idle chatter before Thyma saunters up, Lio in tow. She looks much better than the last time Galo's seen her, but he can tell that she's still recovering. Donning a teal-green dress and golden earrings which dangle gracefully from her ear, it's obvious that she and Aina had taken the time to coordinate their outfits together. She's balancing herself on some crutches, smiling when she reaches them.  
  


"Hi," she says softly.  
"Hey!"  
"Hello."  
"Hi."  
  


"Do you wanna get out of here for a while?" As always, Lio cuts straight to the chase. He tugs uncomfortably at his tie. "I'm starting to feel a little suffocated. I swear, if I have to hear another boomer say 'Burnished' like it's a fucking verb, I'm going to get even _more_ murder charges slapped on my record, and this time, I'll have _actually_ committed it."  
  


Lio being mad = bad. _Actual_ murder charges = also bad. You know what, maybe murder in general = bad. It doesn't take more than two seconds of processing that equation for Galo to say yes. He quietly places his hand on the small of Lio's back, leading him out through the exit into the courtyard.  
  


Once they're out, Lio shrugs the jacket of his suit off and loosens his tie.  
"You doing okay?" Galo asks, checking up on him.  
"I'm fine," Lio replies, waving a hand. He unclips the side of his hair, allowing his bangs to fall free. With a shake of the head, his hair is back to being the poofy, loose mess that it usually is. He cards a hand through it. "Just a little tired of all these politics is all. After this, we'll finally be getting a verdict on my trial."  
  


"Oh yeah." Galo's been so busy with work—mainly Burnish resettlement—that he hasn't had the time to join the onlookers in the galley at Lio's court hearings. Aina's gone in his stead to most of them, but she never brings home any great news. Apparently, Lio's defense team kicks ass, but that doesn't change the fact that he's getting tried for worldwide terrorism. "How are you feeling about it?"  
  


"Law is boring," Lio merely replies with a pout. Galo laughs at that. "But it's not like I didn't expect this outcome. I'm gonna miss this baby." He pulls out the card—Kray's credit card—and gives it a wistful look, as if he couldn't bear to part with the millions of dollars loaded onto it.  
  


"I'unno. Maybe your lawyer will call a surprise witness to the stand and turn it around at the last second."  
"You've been watching way too many crime shows."  
"Says the guy who keeps watching them _with_ me!" Galo scoffs, and Lio playfully shoves at him with a roll of his eyes.  
  


They stroll a little deeper into the courtyard. There are bushes upon bushes of finely-trimmed flowers situated like a maze, coming together in the middle. There's a large fountain there, and a grandiose willow tree hangs above it, a rose-strung swing hanging off of its sturdy branches. There's a dim yellow glow that casts their surroundings in an odd colour, coming from the window of the ballroom. Galo can still hear the faint tune of classical music playing from inside.  
  


"Too bad we got separated so fast," Galo says. He plays with the pockets of his pants—he'd normally shove his hands inside, but they seem to be entirely fake. Whichever sadist designed this outfit, Galo wants to talk to them. "I was gonna challenge you to a food-eating contest at the buffet."  
Lio laughs breathlessly, amusement in his voice. "Don't bother. Gueira and Meis are giving the chefs a run for their money already."   
  


The music from inside shifts into something more fancy; a waltz.  
  


"Oh, jeez," Galo grimaces. "I'm really glad we ducked out in time. I _hate_ dancing."  
"Huh?" Galo gestures towards the window, where multiple couples are forming, stepping in time to the music. Lio's eyes follow. "Oh."  
"What about you?"  
"What _about_ me?"  
"Do you know how to dance?"  
"A little." Lio huffs out the corner of his mouth, shifting his bangs in the process. "Why? Did you want to waltz with me?"  
  


Galo's eyes blow up, and he's grasping at something to say.  
He has nothing to say.  
Lio seems to take his reaction as a surprise, eyes widening to mirror Galo's.  
  


"That was a—"  
"Right, right, I know—"  
"We don't have to—"  
"Yeah, it was a joke—"  
  


O…kay.  
  


"…if you want to."  
"Hah?"  
"I said," Lio pitches his volume up, staring Galo directly in the eyes, "We can if you want to."  
Oh. "…Oh."  
Lio is tugging at the ends of his sleeves, now. He looks down, trepidatious. "You can say no—"  
"Okay!"  
"Huh?"

  
"Fancy bumping into you, stranger." Galo extends a hand towards Lio, grinning goofily. "May I have this dance?"   
"You're so silly," Lio sighs, but it's a happy sigh, and that's all Galo could ask for. "Of course you may." He slides a gloved hand against Galo's, and whisks him into a spin with the professionalism of a prince.  
  


Somewhere along the line, Galo stumbles and steps on Lio's shoes. But Lio doesn't admonish him. Instead, he shakes his head and laughs—and laughs, and laughs.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


Galo rushes into the courthouse right when the judge calls for a short recess.  
  


Lio is sitting on a bench in the lobby, hands folded and wrung out on his lap. Galo approaches him, tentatively.  
  


"Hey."  
Lio starts from his position, jumping up. His glare is directed upwards, until he realizes that it's just Galo. His expression softens. "Hi," he replies.  
  


"Sorry I wasn't there for the first half," Galo asks Lio if he can sit down next to him through a motion of the hands. Lio scoots over. "Got caught up with some stuff at work. But I also brought fans!" He jabs a thumb behind him, where Aina, Thyma, and Varys are standing. They all give Lio friendly waves.  
"It's no problem," Lio replies, waving back to them. Galo settles to his left. "It was a lot of the usual again. You know: the prosecution says some racist bullshit, Chyros tries not to rip the man to shreds, and then I get called a filthy terrorist. At least the judge is being as impartial as they can be about this."  
  


Galo frowns. "That's stupid. The terrorist part, and the prosecution stuff, I mean. I'm sure you and Chyros are doing your best."  
"She's _really_ good at what she's doing," Lio admits, a splash of awe in his voice. "She was part of Mad Burnish before I had even joined. Who knew she could make her voice even _more_ commanding than it usually was."  
  


Lio glances at the clock across from them.  
"Almost time to head back."  
Galo hums. He knows that at this moment, Lio needs support and solidarity—not fancy speeches and hopeful monologues. So, despite the flood of words threatening to drown his thoughts, Galo only says, "You've got this, Lio. The crew says that once you're freed, we should all go out for dinner."  
  


"'Once I'm freed,' huh?" Lio echoes back. The hollow tone in his voice makes it sound as if he doesn't believe that such a time will ever exist. "I'd like that." He smiles. Somehow, it feels wrong.  
  


But Lio has to win. _He has to.  
  
_

Galo knows he will.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


"Mx. Fotia," the prosecutor says from his place. "Was it you who mortally injured four prison security guards during your breakout attempt?"  
  


_'Can't really call it an attempt if he actually managed to break out,'_ Galo thinks to himself.  
  


Lio seems equally unamused, as he blinks at the man—his name is Echthros, which Galo thinks sounds like the villain of a mecha anime—before leaning forward. "For the nth time, Prosecutor Litkos," he sighs, "I did not injure those guards."  
"According to surveillance footage submitted to the court," Chyros corroborates, "Those guards were injured when Freeze Force themselves decided to ram an entire automobile into a hallway which did not accommodate for the size of the vehicle. The defense asserts that the prosecution is merely heckling the defendant at this point."  
  


"The court agrees," states the judge, perched atop their seat. "If the prosecution does not have any more questions for the defendant, we will move on with the next witness."  
  


Echthros scrambles to find something else to hold onto, desperate to find a way to drag out Lio's time on the witness stand. But given the fact that you can only find so many excuses to antagonize someone whose actions were committed in response to literal genocide, it's not long before Lio is dismissed. Chyros calls someone else in to testify.  
  


"The defense would like to call forward Dr. Jian Hart to the witness stand."  
"Very well," the judge says. "Please call Dr. Hart to the stand."  
  


"Witness," Chyros demands, "State your full name and occupation for the record."  
"Jian—" the feedback on the microphone leaves the woman at a pause, and she clears her throat as it's better adjusted. "Jian Hart. I serve as the defendant—as Lio Fotia's—assigned therapist."  
"The defense would like to clarify that explicit consent has been given by the defendant to share information about his sessions with Dr. Hart. Witness, can you please describe to the court what you and Mx. Fotia have talked about over the course of these sessions? "  
  


"Well," Dr. Hart drawls on the 'l,' searching around the room. Galo realizes she's looking for Lio when her eyes land on him, and he gives a solemn nod. "We've been unpacking a lot of his trauma in relation to being persecuted as a Burnish. These include memory-loss issues as well."  
"Can you please elaborate further on what you mean by 'memory-loss,' Doctor?" Galo has no idea where this is going, but it all feels very… _invasive._ Even if this is part of some scheme to assure Lio's freedom, the whole process leaves a sour taste in his mouth.  
  


"Mx. Fotia does not seem to remember much of his life from before he turned Burnish," Dr. Hart explains. "We've been trying to find ties to his life prior to his awakening, as well as jogging any memories that might lie in his subconscious."  
  


Galo is pretty sure that this is all an act—Chyros has to keep the ball rolling, has to draw her shot back before she hits the target. What exactly that target _is,_ though, he has no idea. Chancing a glance towards Lio, he thinks that perhaps not even _he's_ aware of what's going on here; yet still, he had given Chyros and Dr. Hart his full trust in divulging things that not even Galo was entirely aware of. He feels a somber pang in his chest at this musing.  
  


"I see," Chyros nods. "And when exactly _did_ Lio Fotia turn Burnish?"  
Dr. Hart's reply is instantaneous, "Around eight or nine years old."  
  


The court jumps into a frenzy.  
  


"Nine years old—"  
"This is just propaganda—"  
"No way… I have a daughter around that age—"  
"This is clearly a lie—"  
  


"Order!" The judge calls out, banging their gavel. "I will have order in my court." It is a command; the stoniness of their voice leaving no room for protest. The volume of the room immediately dies down, and Galo sort of wishes he had that amount of sheer BDE.  
  


Once the whispers in the room completely stop, the judge nods towards Chyros and her team. "The defense may continue their cross-examination."  
  


"Thank you," she replies, turning once more to Dr. Hart. "Does Mx. Fotia not remember anything before that age?"  
"No."  
"So then, Mx. Fotia has no idea of when or where he was born?"  
"Actually, he does."  
"Please elaborate to the court what exactly you mean by that, Dr. Hart."  
"Lio said that he remembers being from Somerset, England. He awoke as Burnish in Detroit."  
  


"There's a Detroit in England?" Galo hears someone from the galley ask in a harsh whisper.  
  


It seems that Dr. Hart heard that, however, and she bites back a grin when she replies, "No. I mean Detroit, America."  
"Oh."  
"Anyway," Chyros continues, drawing this testimony out for what feels like an eternity, "So he remembers where he was born, but not when."  
"Correct."  
  


"Can the defense please get on with this farce? You are wasting the court's time." All eyes turn towards the prosecutor's bench at Echthros, who is standing with his arms crossed.  
Chyros rolls her eyes. "We're getting to that." It seems like her patience is running thin with him, which is a miracle, considering Galo was just about done the moment he heard his nasally voice call Lio a terrorist.  
  


"Yes, actually—" Dr. Hart's voice rings through the walls. Attention is brought back towards her. "I managed to do my own research, with permission from Lio, and dug into the birth registry for Somerset-born residents. I then began to file through missing persons reports, as well as family names for the area."  
"And what were your findings?"  
"There weren't any records for anyone named Lio Fotia," Dr. Hart begins. The rustling of paper draws Galo's attention to Chyros, who is holding something in her hands. "…But I _did_ find him." At this, the lawyer hands the judge the file.  
  


"The defense requests that Lio Fotia's birth certificate be submitted into the court record."  
  


Instead of the room bursting into anarchy again, a deathly silence overtakes it. It seems like everyone's breath is caught, including Galo's—and Lio's, when the firefighter chances a glance towards him.  
  


"Could you please summarize the details of the defendant's birth?"  
"Of course," Dr. Hart replies. "Born at the Royal United Hospital in Somerset, England. Last name Fotia, first name redacted—"  
"Objection!" Again, from the prosecutor's bench. Galo grits his teeth. "Why is the defendant's first name redacted?"  
"Because," Dr. Hart sounds like she's close to murdering the man, "Last I checked, deadnaming someone in any situation, least of all in a court of law, was grounds for a hate crime charge."  
  


"Objection overruled," the judge calls from their seat, banging the gavel lazily. It seems like even _they’re_ tired of his bullshit. "Carry on, witness."  
  
"Right." Dr. Hart clears her throat. "Birth year: 2036."  
"Do you know what this means, Dr Hart?" Chyros's voice is so giddy-sounding that Galo is surprised she isn’t jumping in place right now.  
"Given Lio's date of birth, it means that he is twenty-three years old. Due to previous testimony from former Mad Burnish members, there is no evidence whatsoever which points to him having been a member of the gang until approximately a year ago—precisely when the death toll associated with their crimes had stopped entirely." Dr. Hart leans forward and places her lips near the mic. She doesn't even try to hide the smile in her voice when she says, "Which means that Lio Fotia cannot possibly be found guilty with anything more than arson and property damage charges dating back to 2058."  
  


Time seems to stop entirely in the room.  
  


_Bullseye.  
  
_

"Oh my God."  
  


Galo realizes that this is Lio's voice. He has his face in his hands, completely masking his expression. But Galo recognizes the gravel in his throat—will always recognize when there are tears in his tone.  
  


"Oh my _God._ "  
  


The rest of the court proceedings go about as usual, but with this new evidence, the entire premise of the case has been turned on its head. It doesn't take long before the jury is asked to leave and deliberate.  
  


▲▲▲  
  


The verdict arrives thirty minutes later.  
Lio Fotia is only found guilty of property damage, sentenced to five years of community service.  
  


▲▲▲

"Dr. Hart! Wait a minute!" Galo bowls through the crowd, attempting to catch the doctor before she can disappear back into the city entirely. Luckily, the black-haired woman seems to hear him, and she turns around, violet eyes blinking owlishly at him as he attempts to catch his breath.  
  


"Yes? What is it?"  
"I don't know if it's entirely appropriate—I mean, I know Lio gave you permission to use it in court, but it—Technically, I'm asking for something kinda unimportant—" Oh jeez, is he rambling?  
A smile quirks on Dr. Hart's lips. "Galo Thymos," she says fondly. "Lio has told me a lot about you."  
Huh?! "Wait, he has?"  
"He has," she confirms, but waves her hand. "But that isn't information I should be passing on. Patient confidentiality and all. Now, what did you want to ask?"  
  
Galo scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy. In the background, he can hear Aina's voice calling out for Lio to wait. He should make this quick—they all made plans to take Lio out to dinner if ( _when_ ) he won his case.  
  


"Can you tell me when Lio's birthday is?"  
  


▲▲▲  
  


"You know, despite my entire identity crisis, I actually never asked Dr. Hart for the details of my birth certificate."  
  


The two of them are on the roof, having just come back from a celebratory dinner at the pizzeria. The Burning Rescue crew had to get back to the station afterwards, and Gueira and Meis (he finally knows which one is which, halle-fucking-lujah) went off to help with some stuff at the shelters.  
  


The minute they'd arrived at the apartment, Lio had told Galo to meet him up here, and to bring his fire extinguisher ("You have one, don't you?" "What, just because I'm a firefighter, you're gonna assume I just have an extinguisher in my house?" "..." "...Okay, I'll bring it up with me in 20"). He wasn't sure exactly why he was asked to do such a thing up until he trudged up the stairs and saw Lio on the rooftop with a barrel, some lighter fluid, a lighter, and the white suit which he'd accidentally torn a week ago.  
  


They're watching the last embers die down now, drinking the finest apple juice that the supermarket down the street has to offer. Lio pokes at the last shreds of the suit with a stick, and then smushes it down even further with it.  
  


"Really? How come?"  
Lio shrugs swiftly, swirling his juicebox around like it's a wine glass. "I don't know. I guess after thinking about it, I decided that it'd be better to figure myself out in the present, rather than fixate on who I might have been in the past."  
"So you don't know your deadname?"  
"Does it really matter what it is?"  
"No. Not really. I mean, I barely remember _mine._ How does this all make you feel, though?"  
"Ugh, stop. Now _you're_ starting to sound like my therapist, too." Lio swings his arms over the railing of the building, looking out into the horizon. He looks a little lost; forlorn.  
  


"I'm being serious," Galo says, not very seriously at all.  
Lio picks up on it, if the grin on his face is any indication. But he still answers. "To tell the truth, I'm still not sure about who I am."  
"You're Lio Fotia, aren't you?"  
A roll of the eyes. "I guess I am."  
"Nuh uh! No guesses! You _are_ Lio! And he _is_ you! C'mon," Galo bounds up from his position, jumping around like he's about to start a boxing match. "Say it with me! 'I'm Lio Fotia!'"  
  


"This is so stupid—" Galo gently prods at his arm. Lio bats it away. He swings with the other fist, gently bumping against Lio's side. He swats at that, too. "Okay, okay, stop it!" He pushes at Galo, laughing.  
"Not until you say it! Here, lemme go first—" Galo braces his hands on the metal bar of the railing, intakes a large swath of breath, and shouts to vast sky—the city—the world—to _Lio, "I'm Galo Thymos, the universe's number one firefighting idiot!!!"_ He turns towards Lio, volume now a modicum of what it was. "Okay, now you go."   
  


"You're a menace, Thymos." But Lio's still mimicking Galo's pose, pressing so hard into the railing that his knuckles turn white. _"I'm Lio Fotia!"_ The boom of his voice is much more thunderous than Galo had anticipated. Lio keeps going. _"Watch out, Promepolis! Because I'm not fucking going_ anywhere!!!"  
At this, Galo lets out a holler. _"Fuck yeah you're not!"  
_ _"Once a Burnish, always a Burnish! You're not getting rid of us anytime soon!"  
_ _"Yeaaaaah!!! Burnish Pride, motherfuckers!"  
  
_

He's pretty sure they're going to end up with sore throats after this, but it's not like that matters much. Galo's starting to think that nothing matters more to him than Lio. Maybe he'll figure out what this means at a later point, but right now, as they whoop and holler towards the setting sun, there's nothing else he can think of except for three little words:  
  


_Stay with me.  
  
_

▲▲▲  
  


"Happy Birthday, Lio!"  
  


Lio walks through the doors of Burning Rescue HQ, expecting a lot of things. What he doesn't expect, though, is the sheer volume of streamers lining the interior of the building, culminating in a large banner that shines holographic, the words "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" adorning the middle. A confetti cannon seems to have also gone off when he'd entered, and he's left picking out little paper pieces from his clothes.  
  


It looks like at least a boatload of people are squished into the room—Lio recognizes some of them as Mad Burnish members, and others as volunteers who have been helping the Burnish out. A few children are also present, staring at the balloons splayed around the room with wonder.  
  


An array of snacks are laid out on the coffee table—Lio remembers it as the one he and Chyros had used all those months ago, when they were first building the defense for his court case. Speaking of, the woman is here, as well. She's the first to draw Lio into a crushing hug.  
  


When Lio pulls back, hair slightly mussed, he breathlessly asks, "What's all this for?"  
The blonde scientist—Lucia—is the first to reply. "We figured, since you missed so many of your birthdays, that we should celebrate them all at once. Even though it isn't your birthday until later in the year." She munches on a lolly in between her words. "So, we helped pitch in."  
  


"Hi, boss!"  
From the corner of the room, Gueira waves cheerfully, apparently playing some sort of card game with Meis, Thyma, and Varys. Lio waves back, still in shock.  
  


Galo emerges from the kitchenette, a cake three times the size of Lio's head in his arms. It's decorated in blacks, teals, and pinks—his signature Burnish colours, back when he actually _was_ Boss. There are sparklers lining it, poked clean into the slabs. Everyone seems to silently make way for him, as if on cue.  
  


"Hey," Galo says when he reaches Lio. He's poking his head out from the side of the cake, grinning.  
"Hi," Lio replies. And then he looks at the sparklers on the cake. "I thought you said you didn't light fires?" He has no idea what else to say at the moment.  
"Well," Galo says, and he walks over to the coffee table. Chyros and Aina shove the snacks aside so he has room to set the cake down. "I thought a little about it. And I figured that maybe I had it all wrong, too."  
  


He marches over, dragging Lio along when he takes his hand and guides him towards the cake. "There are fires, and then there are _fires,_ you know? I always associated it with loss and suffering." The firefighter rubs at his nose with one hand, seemingly embarrassed. "But I realize now that some fires are worth lighting."  
  


Suddenly, Lio feels like he isn't talking about the fires he lit for today's occasion.  
  


"Come on, make a wish!" Galo begins chanting the last three words, and everyone eventually joins in on it.  
  


Lio has never been one for nostalgia. He doesn't associate his past with any romanticized feelings.  
It's a good thing that Galo is so consistently entrenched in the present.  
  
There is always going to be that mystery in the back of his head—the little voice that questions who he used to be. But as Lio looks at the smiling faces of Burning Rescue, at the hearty grins of Gueira, Meis, and all of the other Mad Burnish members, at Chyros's smirk, and at the rest of the people who had come to celebrate something which he had always deemed insignificant—and at Galo, who stands before him, so bright and eager and _beautiful…  
  
_ What exactly are they now? They're no longer enemies, but they're also not quite friends. 'Lovers' has too much commitment attached to the word, so that may not be it. He wonders if Galo feels the same. They may have to talk about this later—after the celebrations, after the cake.  
  
At the end of the day, labels are just semantics, anyway.  
  


Lio blows out the sparklers on the cake. But he doesn't have to make a wish to know that it's already come true.  
  


Everything seems a lot warmer now.  
  


And Lio feels less lonely than before.

**Author's Note:**

> i googled english to greek translations for the original characters and just mixed them around. that being said, i would love for lady chyros to step on me.
> 
> also, shoutout to my friend myer for letting me borrow his name for that one gag about aina mixing up gueira and meis's names.  
> shoutout x2 to gingi cause i wrote that courtyard scene as an homage to our fantasy au.  
> thanks to everyone in the trails of fire and galo gang servers for putting up with me constantly posting snippets of this because i don't know how to keep anything a secret. double thanks to bel and josh who put up with even more of my incessant yelling in DMs lmao
> 
> i'm starting to sound like a youtube personality shilling out for my sponsor
> 
> anyway, please let me know what you think! kudos and comments are v v v appreciated! it is 2:30 am and i think i've gotten sick. help me.


End file.
